


Screensaver Sweethearts

by avidvampirehunter



Series: Murphy's Law in Love and War [2]
Category: Logan Lucky (2017), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Author regrets nothing, Canon Compliant, Comedy, Crylo Clyde, F/M, Fluff, Jealous Clyde, Long-Distance Relationship, Possessive Clyde, Post Logan Lucky, Romance, Simmer Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-19 22:09:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15519681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avidvampirehunter/pseuds/avidvampirehunter
Summary: When Clyde's new cell phone connects him to a woman halfway around the world, he never expected to fall in love.But, as luck would have it, that's exactly what he did.





	Screensaver Sweethearts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darthcarol](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthcarol/gifts).



> Hey hey! So sorry this was late! Life has been terribly frustrating recently. I'm so so sorry!!! T_T I really hope that this is worth the wait!
> 
> This is for the amazing darthcarol, whose sheer wonderfulness and patience stalks my Reylogan dreams in the night. This is for you, girl! <3

Clyde Logan is not a lucky man.

He’s had his run-ins with luck, of course, but never the friendliest type. Luck is depicted as a lady, but she is not so—more like some Femme Fatal, a curse upon the men she seeks to seduce and cradle close to her bitter bosom, then leave behind with confused, weary hearts, wondering what the hell happened.

Clyde wonders just that as he stands inside the airport terminal, the stench of metal, leather, and Lemon Pledge taking the place of her hair—the sweet, lingering traces of sex in her skin. He stands and he watches out the massive window until her plane is gone. Just… gone.

Oh yes, Lady Luck is no lady.

She’s a fucking bitch.

_ \-- _

It’s two months after everything settled down, and Clyde Logan is the quiet owner of a quarter-million dollars and a place of his own, among a few other things.

Naturally, he buys the single-wide trailer on the Logan property on the border of Boone County, West Virginia, not far from Duck Tape and all his known places. It’s awfully quiet without Jimmy around, a bit lonely too, but Clyde has nothing to say about it. Unlike Mellie’s little house, at least he doesn’t have to duck doorframes.

The Winter is fickle this year, sometimes warm and sometimes not. On the warmer days he enjoys sitting in his lawn chair, admiring the shadowy forest and soft breezes. He alternates between Green and Black Teas nowadays, where his brother can’t give him any critical eyes. He takes a tender sip, inhaling the bittersweet steam and silence.

On a day like today, maybe a little loneliness is just what he needs.

It’s short-lived. The back door slams and limping steps prelude the inevitable Virginian twang. “Good morning, Brother Mine.”

Clyde quickly jerks his mug, dumping the tea and setting it out of sight. “Hey.” His big eyes flit up, checking over his shoulder as Jimmy comes to stand over him.

He holds out a box, wrapped haphazardly in white tissue paper. “Happy birthday.”

Clyde takes it—it’s light. There’s the slightest of smiles as he looks back at his brother’s face. “Why thank you. What is it?”

“You gotta open it,” Jimmy chuckles, settling roughly on the stone edge of the firepit. “Go on,” he gestures impatiently, leaning over his knees.

Clyde considers him, then the box, wanting to guess but not thinking of anything. A gift card to the Lowe’s, maybe? His big fingers peel gently at the tape, unfurling it slowly as Jimmy impatiently bounces his good knee, watching.

It’s a lidded box, clean cardboard, and inside is a car key and fob resting on a soft bed of foam. Clyde snaps his head up to stare at his brother, thoughts running down the back of his head like oil. “What’s this?”

Grunting, Jimmy rises. “Come on.”

Clyde follows him around the trailer towards the gravel drive and stops in his tracks as soon as they round the corner, slack-jawed and gaping.

“A little birdie told me you got your license a few weeks ago,” Jimmy smirks, watching proudly as Clyde slowly approaches the hood, his right hand reaching to smooth the truck’s deep blue finish.

“Was it Mellie?” Clyde asks, distracted and reverent.

“Can’t say,” Jimmy sniffs. “But that birdie is also tired of driving you around everyplace. Gas ain’t as cheap as it used to be.”

Clyde scoffs slightly. As if they would have money troubles anymore. He continues to inspect the exterior, eyes wet and stinging. His voice comes choked when he opens the door, the supple grey leather seat wide, the roof high and perfect. He slides inside, adjusting himself, feeling the firmness and stroking the dusted dash.

Jimmy leans just outside, peering in with crossed arms, watching Clyde’s face with worry. “You like it?”

Clyde keeps both hands on the wheel, holding on, his head down as he stares uselessly at all the beautiful finery. “You didn’t have to do this,” he whispers, heart rising to clog his windpipe.

“Yeah, I did,” Jimmy says, earning a red, questioning look from Clyde. His ornery smirk grows. “You’re my little brother. Besides, it’s not charity. It’s a gift. And you’re welcome.”

“Thank you,” Clyde says quickly, berating himself for forgetting.

“You’re welcome.” Jimmy playfully punches what’s left of Clyde’s other arm before shutting the door and going to the other, slipping into the passenger side. “Now, let’s see what this baby can do!”

\--

Eight hours later they’re in the Applebee’s in Madison, West Virginia. Ben and Jimmy take up their own end of the booth, watching intently as Mel and Sadie play tic-tac-toe with the flimsy restaurant crayons. A part of Clyde wonders if the Logan curse will come into effect somehow, if the crayon will snap on either of them. It doesn’t. Sadie wins.

“Ugh, girl,” Mel groans, adjusting her hair with pristine nails. “That’s four in a row. I don’t know how you do it.”

“There’s a strategy,” Sadie explains, her little voice lilting and patient. “Watch this. If you make a corner out of three, then you win either way. See?”

The adults lean in. “Huh.”

When they sit back, their appetizers come. They return to the casual chit-chat of catching up between mozzarella sticks and guacamole. Jimmy takes little drags of his beer, listening proudly as Sadie rehearses how the Food Network makes good queso—and that queso is not just fancy Mexican cheese.

“This is for you,” Mellie says at one point, sliding a wrapped box towards Clyde.

He picks it up and examines it. “You really didn’t have to—”

“Don’t be silly,” she smirks, casually toying with Sadie’s hair. “Just open it.”

Well, with a command like that, Clyde is hardly about to resist. A naturally curious man and attention-hog, he opens the present slowly, using both of his hands and working the robotic fingers the best he can. He  _ could  _ do it faster, but in the end it’s times like these he enjoys taking things slow.

“It’s a phone!” Sadie gasps eagerly.

Clyde blinks at the box, then up to his sister. “I’ve already got a phone...” he mumbles.

“That’s a flip-phone, not a real phone,” Mellie shrugs, taking a sip of her Long Island iced tea.

Clyde frowns. He’d thought his old phone did the job just fine, but it’s a gift from his sister, and the least he could do is give it a try. “Thanks, Mel.”

“Happy birthday, Clyde.”

They spend the next hour or so eating steak, ribs, all the kinds of meat that make Clyde’s mouth water. Sadie and Mellie program his phone and set his number, but get distracted by the delicious, beckoning ooze of chocolate lava cake and ice cream.

Jimmy and Clyde lean back, sighing simultaneously as they rest a hand on full bellies. Offhandedly, Jimmy hands over his phone for Clyde to put in his phone number. It takes a bit of fumbling, but he manages to cradle the metal slab in an equally metal hand and jab the buttons with his fingers before setting it down on the table to enjoy the rest of his birthday dinner.

\--

When he tries to text Jimmy, he never gets an answer.

At first he thinks his phone is broken, or he’s doing it wrong, but he sends message after message asking when he thinks he’ll be coming to Danville next.

And then, one day—while his phone is draining battery like a busted brake line—he gets a call.

He jumps when it starts ringing, caught off guard. Finally, Jimmy is going to respond. It takes a second try to slide the answer key before he lifts it to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hi, um… who is this?”

Clyde blinks. It’s a woman. With an accent? He pouts.  _ That’s peculiar…  _ Last he knew Sylvia was a regular West Virginian, dialect and all. “This is Clyde. Who’s this?” he rumbles warily.

“Uh,” she hesitates a few beats. “I’m Rey. I’ve been getting your texts… I think you have the wrong number,” she says. She sounds tired, as if she’d only just woken up. Or  _was_   _woken_ up.

Clyde’s not sure how that could have happened… he could have sworn he typed in the right number. Although, with his fat fingers on this tiny slip of a screen… he might have missed a key or two. Maybe.

“Ah, uh,” he stammers. “Sorry, Ma’am. Didn’t mean to bother you. I’ll make sure ‘n get it changed.”

She laughs. It’s a lovely sound, a lot like a bell. It’s… nice. “That’s alright. It happens.”

He scratches his neck with robotic fingers, the blunt ends digging in his flushed skin, scratching the hairs. This is quite embarrassing. “Right. Guess I’ve got a lot to learn,” he rambles. “Thank you for lettin’ me know.”

He can hear her smile from here, miraculously, over the sound of his own frustration. “Oh. Uh, sure. You’re welcome.”

“‘M sorry again. Goodnight Ma’am.”

“Thanks. Goodnight to you, too.”

She hangs up first as he struggles with the buttons, tossing the stupid scrap metal onto the couch and leaving it there to die.

\--

A few months pass and it’s April, the Spring bringing beautiful green into Danville.

Jimmy came by again not long after the lady called Clyde to tell him he’d been texting the wrong number. He’d deleted everything he could, changed it, and promptly forgot all about it.

Until he gets a text from a similar number.

_ Did you ever get to learn? _

It took Clyde all of two minutes to give up trying to figure out what the Hell this was, if not some strange cellular scam or prank. The ping of his phone went off during his afternoon doze, waking him up only partially. He texts a sleepy  _ Learn waht?  _ Ugh. Damn typos…

She texts back almost immediately.  _ How to put in your friend’s number the right way ;) _

Friend? Oh. Clyde sits up, groaning slightly as he looms over his phone, typing,  _ Yes. He’s my brother. _

_ Oh! That’s nice. I’m glad it worked out. _

Clyde marvels at this maddening circumstance. Some woman he doesn’t know is… texting him? There’s something mysterious about it… something thrilling that grabs a tight hold over the younger man inside him.

So he replies,  _ Me too. _

\--

They keep texting at different points over the next few weeks. Morning, noon, night, no matter the time, it’s like she’s always there.

She asks him questions about his family. Not…  _ spying  _ questions, but the strange, obscure kind one may not care about.  _ Are you close? Do you throw parties? Does your niece look forward to going into the seventh grade? _

Yes, he told her about that.

Clyde tells her a lot of things. It’s like a conversation, and every time he sets his phone down his eyes just rove back to it, waiting for a response.

He remembers writing letters in prison, and how lucky he was to be a right-handed man with the amputation on his left. He didn’t think much of it at the time, but now, as he gradually pads each letter with his pointer finger, he wishes he could write her letters that she’d get just as fast. She’d see how bad his handwriting is, but at least he’d get to see hers.

It’s the last week of April when she asks for a picture of him.

_ For my contact photos. I like having pictures there. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I’d like to see what you look like. _

What he looks like.

What he  _ looks  _ like?

That’s… not good. He sits in a corner booth in the bar, on his break, and takes a nervous chug of Coors as he stares at her text, deliberating.

If he sends her a picture of him, two things could happen:

One: She could see his face, tell him thanks (because she’s a polite one, this British girl), and they could move on.

Two: She could see his face, see what all the other girls saw when he was growing up (and even today), and never talk to him again.

Given his track record of not having much luck in the women department, and his genuine liking for Rey, he’s disinclined to share.  _ Very. Disinclined. _

He presses his lips together in a frown. Still, for all his hesitation, Rey asked him to. And, if he knows her as much as he hopes he does, then she won’t mind.

Would she?

His heart hammers when he opens the camera. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he murmurs to himself. Despite his beliefs, he switches it to “selfie” like Sadie showed him, his big mug popping into view.

The picture seems serious. Hell, he looks downright  _ evil  _ in the dim, orange lighting of the bar. His black dress shirt is wrinkled on the shoulders, his hair a bit limp from forgoing last night’s shower to talk to Rey about her recent excursion with fondant (he told her his niece goes on about that stuff, and might know a thing or two, to which Rey replied with an  _ I’d love to learn from her someday!).  _

Before he can scare himself out of it, he hits “send.” He exhales shakily, almost tossing the phone back onto the table as he downs the rest of his Coors. Most of the bartenders aren’t allowed to drink between duties, but it normally takes… a  _ lot _ , to get him any kind of inebriated. Plus he’s the favorite, which he keeps to himself. And Rey.

His phone pings and, while he usually dives for it, he picks it up slowly. When he opens her reply, his heart sinks.

_ Oh wow. _

Clyde sighs dejectedly. He should have known this was a bad idea. He knows he’s not on the sunny side when it comes to looks. His nose, his moles, his skin always pale no matter the amount of time outdoors… And he never told her about his arm. God, it never came up… it usually does whenever someone stares, or asks. But she never saw nor bothered to say,  _ hey, do you have all your limbs?  _ He should have just said ‘no.’ He could have, but he was so focused on giving her what she wanted. He should have—

_ You’re really cute!! _

His heart seizes. Did she just—?

_ I mean, not cute cute, but really handsome! _

He rubs a finger over his lip, smile breaking out in his cheeks like a loon. She thinks he’s cute?  _ Handsome?  _ The last person to tell him that was his mother, before…

Well, it’s been a while since someone called him that and meant it.

_ Do you want one of me?  _ She asks.

As if this moment couldn’t get any better. It’s a good deal—an uneven trade, in fact—to see what Rey looks like. A face to the voice to the words that have been slowly driving him mad for weeks. He types  _ Yes  _ without a thought, and immediately thinks of five other, more suave ways to say it.

Then his break is up.

Clyde sighs frustratedly as he slinks behind the bar, phone in his back pocket. It’s a busy friday evening, the sun outside dwindling into darkness. If his phone pings he doesn’t hear it, but he doesn’t stop thinking about checking every other second.

He restrains himself, though, and finds that he enjoys the subtle masochism of waiting. He wonders what color her hair will be, how long it is. What color are her eyes? He’d given it plenty of thought in the past, but in the end never summoned the courage to ask.

It’s when he has keys cradled in his left hand, parking lot empty save for his truck, that he pulls his phone out of his back pocket, unable to contain himself.

He presses on the notification and it feels like his chest might implode—but not before his eyes pop out of their sockets.

She’s a young woman.Maybe early twenties. Hair a dark, honeyed brown pulled up in a messy bun. High cheekbones and the widest, darkest, most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen. A smile on a sweet, pink mouth.

And a green face.

He chuckles. It must be one of those night-time masks ladies like to use sometimes. The picture is simple. Sweet and a little silly, but full of a strange sort of joy he feels whenever he thinks about her.

So he does another trick Sadie taught him. He holds down his thumb, saves the image, and makes it his wallpaper.

\--

In mid-July Mellie and Clyde travel down to Lynchburg to celebrate Sadie’s thirteenth birthday. Irrationally nervous, but not due to a little girl’s teen years, Clyde holds her wrapped present in his lap, tapping fingers on the packaging as he looks out the window.

Rey hasn’t messaged him in two days, and he wonders if she’s moved on. Just the thought of it is a bullet wound to the chest, tear gas to the throat, altogether suffocating, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to whip out his phone and only earn another round of fire.

Maybe he should just throw it out the window.

“You’re unusually quiet today,” Mel remarks, turning onto another section of road.

He doesn’t reply beyond a soft, disheartened grunt.

She clicks a nail against the steering wheel in the pregnant silence. “Is it that girlfriend of yours across the pond?”

Clyde stiffens. “She’s not my girlfriend,” he shys.

“Hm. Coulda’ fooled me.”

He snaps his head to look at her with wide eyes, full of soft hope and heavy despair. “Now what’s  _ that  _ s’pposed to mean?”

“Nothin’” she shrugs helplessly, curls falling around her plaid-clothed shoulders. “It’s just that you normally talk my ear off about her. It’s always Rey-this or Rey-that… for the first time it’s like you ain’t got somethin’ to say.”

Leaning back into his seat, Clyde pouts down at his lap.

She’s right. He hadn’t realised Rey was all he talked about. Perhaps he was just already so used to their faces going all  _ impassive  _ when he’d talk about the evidence towards the Logan curse. He’d thought it was because they wouldn’t believe him, but as it turns out, maybe he just… bored them.

He never told Rey about the curse. Had she found out herself? Is that why?

“Hey now, quit your mopin,’” Mellie urges softly. “I’m sorry. I’m glad you’re happy. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you this excited about something besides that curse theory of yours.”

He stays quiet for a moment as they hit a stoplight. As the car idles under him, his confession shakes out like lagar in a drunk man’s hand. “She quit talkin’ to me,” he murmurs.

She affords him a pitying glance he doesn't want to take before settling her eyes back on the road, wrapped in her own quick-witted contemplation. “Maybe she got busy.”

The less-family-friendly connotations of that make his chest ache even more. He frowns.

Mellie sighs. “Clyde, sometimes the best thing you can give a girl is, well, a little time to miss you. Like you’re missin’ her.”

He almost scratches his head at that. That’s… the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. He levels her a half-hearted glare, but his voice comes as soft and broken as he feels. “What?”

She smiles knowingly. “Clyde, sometimes a girl will run away hopin’ the man she cares about will come after her.” Then she looks at him again, a furtive thing before she pulls onto Jimmy’s street. It’s a bright kind of look, more wise and hopeful than he thought possible at a time like this. “If you like her, then you should tell her.”

Clyde stares at her, bewildered, as she gets out of the car. She pops the trunk to grab the rest of the presents as he sits, gazing off into the nothingness.

He… likes Rey.

Of course he  _ likes  _ her, but there’s just something off when Mellie says “like,” something in his heart telling him “like” is too small a word.

\--

It’s more of a small family get-together than a party. Bobby Jo does the big, fancy-pants parties in her husband’s big house. But with Jimmy Logan it’s a good, old fashioned taco night.

Sadie tilts her head to take a calculating bite of her leaky soft-shelled taco., sauce dripping a trail over her plate. Mellie wordlessly pushes a napkin closer to her. She’s getting taller, finally—the poor girl barely made it past her daddy’s waist by age twelve. Her cheeks fuller, hair longer, skin and eyes brighter than ever.

It seems these days all the kids are into something called “slime.” When he’d told Rey last week, she’d sent him a list of ingredients. Glue, glitter, and a few other things from the Grapevine Craft Shop in Madison. Without her advice, Sadie would not be smiling at him the way she is now—and all Clyde wants to do is thank Rey for her advice, if only as an excuse to talk to her.

They sit on the back porch, the Summer air cooling as they sip their beers, just… talking. Sadie plays around on the iPhone her stepfather gave her. Jimmy expresses his dislike in that calm, almost passive concern he always does.

When Mel and Jimmy start discussing travel routes around the state line, Clyde takes the opportunity to check his phone.

Still nothing.

He frowns, and in a moment of white-hot pride almost resolves not to talk to her at all. But he takes a breath, trying to remember what Mellie said. If Rey is testing him, to see whether he “likes” her, then… it’s a test he could pass right now.

But then what?

Making up his mind, he does what he knows she likes. He holds his phone up, taking a quick picture of his family around the deck table. It’s smooth and quick; they don’t notice a thing as he sends it with  _ She liked her present. Thank you. _

He sets his phone down, heart hammering more than usual, and waits.

\--

His phone goes off early the next morning, a little after five.

Clyde wakes from a dream he’s already forgotten, turning over to reach with his right and answer as hair falls over his face. “Hello?” he grumbles.

“Clyde?”

He bolts up, nerves on fire, very awake. He would know that soft, lilting accent anywhere, and his heart soars. “Rey.”

“I’m sorry to wake you, I just… I needed to talk to you.”

The way she says it manages to relax him as he leans back against the headboard, letting his stub fall to the sheets. “That’s okay,” he mutters, careful to keep his voice soft. Jimmy gave him the spare bedroom under careful consideration of sobriety and a long drive. Clyde can feel the threads of a hangover tugging at him, but he ignores it. “What’d you wanna talk about?”

“I know I haven’t been talking lately. I’m really sorry. My friend Finn... he got hit by a car. He’s still in the hospital, and they didn’t want cell phones around. I lost track of time.”

The part of Clyde that bristles about her having a close male companion is quickly subdued by an overwhelming pressure in his throat. “Is everythin’ okay?”

“I don’t know. I think it will be. He’s lucky to be alive—his spine is fractured. I’ve been here waiting, but…” she sighs. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be unloading this on you. How was Sadie’s birthday?”

“Rey,” he starts gently, but seriously. He swallows the lump in his throat. “You can talk to me. You can talk to me about anythin’ you need to.”

There’s a moment of silence where he’s terrified he’s said something wrong, but it’s interrupted by a light sniff and a choked. “Thank you.”

It feels like normalcy again, but something different all the same, and they talk and talk and talk until even the smell of sizzling bacon can’t take him away.

And at some point during, Clyde Logan realized what word is stronger than “like.”

\--

Rey begins to share with Clyde the wonders of social media, specifically the kinds where he can get more pictures of her—which he doesn’t mind in the slightest.

There’s a hint of Autumn outside, the green trees turning a rusty shade of old leaves. It’s not cold yet, but it’s close.

“So,” Jimmy sets down his beer, reclining in the lawn chair next to Clyde’s as they enjoy the afternoon silence. “How’re things going with you and Rey?”

Clyde grins a bit, chin wrinkling as he looks down to hide his barely-contained contentment. “Things are goin’ pretty good,” he lilts, looking at his brother. He leans over a bit, like he’s still the kid brother telling hushed secrets in shy whispers. “Rey added me on the ChatSnap. She sends me pictures,” his smile falters before he goes to take a sip, “but they always disappear…”

“Oh?” Jimmy smirks, lifting the bottle to his lips. “What kind of pictures?”

Clyde nearly chokes, glaring openly at the smug bastard next to him. “Not  _ those,”  _ he deflects, heat creeping up the back of his neck.

“Uh-huh, sure.”

“I mean it,” Clyde presses petulantly. “It’s not like that.”

Every word Jim says next is crisp, left with spaces in between. “But you  _ want  _ it to be,” he points.

Well, of course Clyde does. What man wouldn’t? But he’s a respectable type of man, and Rey is a lady. Besides, she doesn’t know about his affections, and until he has a clear go-ahead he won’t be making any rash decisions—an attribute he often prides himself on, in-context. “Anyway,” he stammers, trying to change the subject. “She says she wants to ‘Skype’ me today, like sharing a video on my phone? We’ve both got the day off… I’m gonna see and talk to her at the same time.”  _ For the first time,  _ he wants to say, heart pounding at the thought.

Jimmy snorts. Clyde tries to ignore it, and the blush blooming on his cheeks.

\--

He combs his hair nicely, puts on his best shirt, trims his beard, washes his face. He looks squeaky-clean in the image of his phone, checking his teeth for the eighth time.

Rey said that when she Skyped him his phone would let him know, and his patience is wearing a hole in the carpet as he paces to and fro. The trailer feels thick and quiet with just him in it—but soon enough he’ll hear her voice, see her face, and it won’t be so bad anymore.

And sure enough, just when he lets down his guard, the call comes through.

Clyde takes a deep breath, rearranging himself in the breakfast nook of the kitchen. Daylight streams through, catching the ebony shine in his hair. With the phone held steady in his left, he swipes to answer.

Video feed ripples to life, a bit warbled, but solid and clear. “Hey!” she smiles.

He smiles back in the small, Clyde way. Lord, is she beautiful. “Hello. Uhm… How’re you? How’s it, uh, goin?’” Oh God, kill him now.

She giggles. It’s like a bell; music. “Everything is going fine. Finn’s in recovery. Rose is helping him now.”

Ah, Rose. Finn’s nurse and flame. Quite a lucky happenstance on Clyde’s part. “That’s good.” Rey is quiet for a while, simply staring. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“No! No, just,” she stammers, smiling sheepishly. “It’s good to see you.”

Warmth blooms in his chest, setting him at ease as he looks over her face. Pretty and smooth—probably from the green night-masks—eyes big, large grinning teeth. He could tell her how she makes him feel right now, but he doesn’t, finally feeling comfortable in his own seat. “It’s good to see you, too.”

\--

People in London don’t celebrate Thanksgiving, and since their mother died, neither do the Logans.

So, naturally, it’s a perfect time to share a meal, even at a five-hour time difference.

“Ooh, what’s that you’ve got there?” Rey smiles, taking another bite of her tuna melt.

Clyde holds it up for her to see. “Turkey bacon. I thought it would be fitting, with the day an’ all.”

Rey laughs, the tinny sound echoing through the kitchen. Her little image sits on the table in front of him and his plate (He’d gone to the Wal-Mart out of town to buy a special stand for it, and couldn’t be happier).

“You’re making me wish I could eat breakfast more often,” Rey remarks wistfully. She’s a busy lady across the pond, and claims she never has the time to eat before she’s rushing out the door.

Clyde’s hyper-focus activates, an opportunity presented. “I could make breakfast for you.”

A slow, mortified look grows in her eyes, a cute, blushing bashfulness he adores. She changes the subject on him. “So, about your family curse. Did your aunt really lose a winning lottery ticket?”

The diversion works on him. “Yes, Ma’am. My Aunt Maggie.”

She moves on to her salt and vinegar chips. “That’s insane,” she says, shaking her head. “There’s no way that’s a coincidence.”

“I know,” he nods, forgoing the food. Damn, she believes him! He almost can’t contain himself, spilling out all of the information he has handy while she listens intently.

It feels like yesterday when he finally told her about his arm. He’d done it over the phone, wanting to tell the truth. It shouldn’t have felt like a confession, but it did, and when she told him that she’s glad he’s alive, that they met, well… he felt like the luckiest man alive.

As Rey polishes off her ice water, Clyde finally finishes his latest spiel, and they go on feeding the theory with newer insights he never thought of before. He doesn’t tell her about the heist, of course. She knows he’s done time, but still she looks at him like a normal woman does at a normal man.

Only that normal man isn’t all that normal, and loves her more than anything.

\--

Clyde works on Christmas day through the night, and it’s a terrible time, because he knows Rey is waiting up for him. He wears a santa hat, giving out free drinks to the lonely souls at the bar, and gladly takes it off at a quarter past one when he closes up shop.

Driving home in the snow is a careful process. He feels like a spaceman, flying through the stars to reunite with his true love on some faraway planet. An epic romance, right here in the driver’s seat.

When he gets home he immediately settles the stand on the living room table, sitting on the couch while the Skype call goes through. She’s ruffled and sleepy. Precious. “Good morning,” she yawns widely. “Did you get it?”

“Yeah, I got it,” he replies, reaching over to pull the package into sight.

Not long after “Thanksgiving” breakfast—or, for Rey, lunch—they’d traded addresses for this express purpose. It was her idea, and his pleasure to divulge. The package she sent is small, and arrived yesterday morning like a miracle in his mailbox.

“Did you get mine?” he asks.

She holds it up, shaking it a little. “I sure did! Did you want to go first?”

He shakes his head blearily. “No, that’s alright. Ladies first,” he murmurs, glancing discreetly at the decolletage of her low-necked pajama top.

“Such a gentleman,” She grins, the camera shuffling as she maneuvers to sit cross-legged on her bed. “Okay,” she breaths, tearing into the box. She has to set down the phone and pick it up again as she digs inside the shavings and packing peanuts. “Ooh, what is it?”

Clyde’s heart pounds furiously, every bone, every muscle, every blood cell praying she likes it. He swallows. “Open it up.”

She obliges, slowly unwrapping the tissue paper to reveal a wooden carving of a four-leaf clover. She turns it over in her hands, staring down at it. “Oh, Clyde…”

His nerves get to him, and in a rushed type of panic he feels the need to explain himself. “I did a lot of woodworkin’ in the prison,” he murmurs. “I thought it would be a good luck charm.”

“I love it,” she smiles, biting her lip. For a moment he’s terrified she’s going to cry, but that smile of hers persists, as lovely and radiant as her name. “I love it. Thank you, Clyde.”

Hearing that fills him with a proud, heady type of bliss no amount of imagining her with him can replace. He smiles back at her. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Uh,” she scoffs, laughing at herself as she wipes something out of the corner of her eye. “Okay. Your turn.”

Clyde nods, tearing into his package. He’s gotten quite good at working his new hand, tearing at the package tape and peeling slowly, savoring every moment with her eyes on him. He’s always been a slow opener, after all.

What he pulls out is a neatly-wrapped, flat rectangle, and it confounds him. When he tears it away he discovers that it’a a picture frame. But not only the frame—a frame with a picture of Rey inside it.

Holding a plane ticket.

When his eyes find her on his phone screen, heart liquidating into his feet, she smiles coyly, slowly revealing the very same ticket in her hand. “I saved up enough for a round trip,” she smiles. “I thought that West Virginia would look beautiful this time of year.”

Clyde’s grip on the frame tightens, excitement, surprise, and confusion roiling in his body like a hurricane. He can’t think beyond the sudden urge to get down on his knees and sing praises to whoever will listen, give thanks for this impossible blessing.

He blinks back tears, voice choked. “It would. It really would.”

\--

He runs a hand through his hair, knees trembling like a nervous wreck. The robotic grip on the flowers almost crushes the stems entirely, their bright yellows and whites strangled in his quaking grasp.

The airport is abuzz with activity for the New Year’s season, snow falling in gentle flakes outside. He stands with the other waiting drivers, eyes trained on the top of the descending escalator, wondering if any plane out the window in his peripheral could be hers.

And then she’s there.

A woman, tall and lean, hair down but unmistakably  _ hers,  _ She looks around for only a moment before their eyes lock, and damn it all, he thinks he could drop dead right here.

They don’t break as she descends—like an angel—from the escalator. And as soon as her boots touch the linoleum she rockets across the ground, straight towards him.

He doesn’t think, only opens his arms and catches her, crushing her to his chest as her arms wrap around his neck, pulling them flush together. When he breathes in he catches a whiff of her hair.  _ Christ,  _ her  _ hair.  _ He never imagined it would smell so good. “Rey,” he sighs, the feeling of her almost too much for him to bear.

She squeezes. “Hi, Clyde.”

Her voice… it’s not like over the phone. It’s a bit higher, almost happier, and real. It spills into him slowly, like molasses, the sweetness so becoming of her. It’s the voice he’s dreamed of for nearly a year.

When they pull apart her eyes are wide, her arms lingering on him as they rove over his body. He would do the same, if he weren’t so captivated by her face. “Wow—you’re  _ huge,”  _ she gawks, laughing almost nervously.

In all his life, Clyde has never been proud to be called out on his status in height and build, but feels like preening now, with the way she seems to like what she sees. It gives his a fresh dose of confidence as he hands over her flowers, takes her arm, and escorts her to baggage claim, listening to every detail of her trip.

Yet, despite the happiness he feels, the darker voice of doubt echoes in his mind, dripping poison into his heart.

This is going to be the shortest week of his life.

\--

On the first day she gets settled from her long trip. She’s only twenty, now, not old enough to go into the bar, but it doesn’t matter. He took the whole week off anyway, and they can do whatever they want.

So they go out to eat at a local greasy spoon, Rey digging into her walleye with a fervor Clyde adores, and they talk as snow drifts and melts like the whipped cream in her hot cocoa.

He prepared the guest bedroom for her at the trailer, and teaches her how to work the kink in the shower, trying to keep his thoughts pure. She’s a quick learner, though, and it doesn’t take long. She unpacks her supplies, and comes into the living room with a green face and slippers. She gets tired fast from the jet-lag, but he doesn’t mind being the one to talk, rather enjoying how she almost nods off on his couch.

And like always, they talk. And talk. Having her face so big, so close, feels like heaven. And by living in almost-heaven, he knows now he could never go back to “almost.”

\--

On the second day Rey wakes up on the couch with a blanket over her, the savory smell of bacon and eggs urging her to rise.

She looks zombiefied as she waddles in, rubbing her eyes. He looks over at her as she emerges, smiling slightly at her messy hair. “Mornin’ Sleepyhead,” he welcomes.

She yawns. “Good morning.” Instead of going to sit at the breakfast bar, she stands beside him. Their shoulders touch and he thinks he just might faint. She smells it, moaning—which doesn’t help his case. “That smells amazing.”

“I told you I’d make breakfast,” Clyde chides, leaning on her playfully.

She returns the favor with surprising strength, stands on her toes, and kisses his cheek. “Thank you,” she murmurs, like a purr.

Now Clyde  _ almost  _ falls over, the warmth of her little kiss spreading like a wildfire through his body. He could hollar with joy, but is caught frowning down instead, as if it’s all some trick, something too good to be true. “What was that for?”

Rey shrugs, her cheeks flushing as she seems to come fully awake. “No reason. Actually,” she folds her lips in a smile.  “I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”

Oh, there are  _ plenty  _ of things Clyde has wanted to do for a while, too. And with the newfound heat spiking through him at the site of her walking away in those shorts, he could do them all right here, right now, on the kitchen floor.

But it’s breakfast time, and he promised her breakfast, and she should eat, and…

… he is in a lot of trouble.

\--

They meet Mellie for lunch. Jimmy’s recent promotion to manager at the Lynchburg Lowe’s keeps him too busy to come, but it’s altogether a lovely time.

Seeing Rey and Mel together makes Clyde feel a certain type of possession. If he had his way, he would drape an arm over her shoulders, pull her into his side, kiss her hair…

Wandering thoughts do him no good.

\--

The three of them go to the mall, Rey and Mellie walking ahead, and Clyde has never felt more like an odd man out.

He catches other men ogling Rey and his sister as they pass, and then they catch  _ him  _ as he glares back, an aura of threat.

They skitter like rats, and Rey is none the wiser.

It’s when Mellie goes on to a Victoria’s Secret that both Clyde and Rey decide to let her be on this one. They move on to a little shop, a  _ Remember Me  _ type of store, heavy with fragrance and novelties and home decor. It’s like a maze, a guided path, things stacked on top of the other in a mountain of sentimental consumerism.

She takes his hand, and holds it all the way through.

And when they leave, she doesn’t let go.

\--

It’s cold out that night, Rey blowing into her mittens as they leave the mall, walking the distance to the truck. She shivers, and he doesn’t hesitate, slipping off his jacket-coat to drape over her shoulders and pull her a little closer.

“Thank you, Clyde,” she says through chattering teeth.

Her nose looks so red and kissable, dark hair catching pretty snowflakes. “No trouble, Ma’am,” he rumbles, walking her to the passenger side and opening the door.

She snickers. “A real gentleman,” she teases, squeezing his arm as she climbs inside.

He shuts the door and prays he won’t do anything stupid.

\--

He doesn’t.

They make hot chocolate together, Rey getting creative with what he has in the fridge—which isn’t much. A touch of chocolate syrup, then  _ maple  _ syrup, for added sweetness. He takes his cocoa plain, all the enjoyment from her scrunched nose at the overwhelming flavor.

Sitting together in the breakfast nook, the dark sky snowing outside, the quiet comfort surrounding them… it’s like something from a movie, or a fairy tale. As the mugs drain and the words trade and laughter spills out of her mouth like gold, their knees touch, sending a jolt of electricity through him.

Rey doesn’t move away, biting the inside of her lip. Her eyes flit prettily up to his, and time stands still. “I had a nice time today, Clyde.”

If Jimmy taught him anything, it’s that those words are the green-light for a kiss. But Clyde doesn’t move, just stay close, enjoying the heat of her body, the soft-cotton smell of her pajama shirt—the low one he likes. “Yeah, me too,” he swallows.

Her hands wrap tight over the mug of her cocoa, breath heavy and sweet on his face as the distance just keeps closing. Her gaze falls on his mouth, he can feel his heart pounding in his ears, and then, in the most maddening stroke of luck, or something else, he manages the courage to close his eyes and kiss her.

“Mm,” she whimpers, and for a split-haired second he is scared he’s hurt her, or that she hates it, but he couldn’t be more wrong. Deftly, she reaches up, her small hand finding the side of his face, as if to hold him still, before her fingers dig into his hair.

Now it’s his turn to gasp, a low, curling thing in his throat as her slippers tap his shins, as her lips slit over the seam of his own, kissing him back.

And then it’s over. Short, simple, lingering. On instinct, as they pull away, he touches his tongue to his lip, tasting the maple syrup and natural sweetness of her flesh.

Her eyes are still closed, fluttering open to meet his stare, and she smiles. Her fingers loose his hair, twining around, her breath husky. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time, too,” she murmurs drunkenly.

It’s too much. Clyde moves as a man possessed, using his arm to brush their mugs away, their scrape against the wood pronounced by the thud in his veins. Everything goes dark save the light in her eyes, and he doesn’t let it go, turning fully to place his hand on the seat next to her, brushing her thigh.  “Yeah…” he leans in again, thirsty for more of her taste. “...me too.”

They kiss again, the same, soft press. The simplest thing, and still… it feels like his entire life has led to this moment, this one second in time where she’s  _ here. _

And his.

\--

The next two days are like heaven. They only kiss with closed lips, their held hands intertwining, his right and her left. She makes him feel whole, in the strangest sense, and watches from the couch as he pulls off his prosthetic, baring his missing pieces.

She doesn’t give him pitiful looks, or amused ones, or anything he’s seen before. She looks at him the same way she always has. She doesn’t walk on eggshells, just asks questions, and when he sits next to her she reaches out to touch it.

He shivers, and she’s careful, but not as if she thinks he’ll break. She touches him like he wants to touch her—slowly, reverently, mapping every inch.

He could tell her he loves her right now.

But he doesn’t.

\--

Rey’s round trip works with their plans to visit Washington D.C.

It’s… lucky, for her.

The six-hour drive is long on the way, but short in getting to the destination. He tries driving with his left, if only to hold onto her hand, but in the more complex streets needs both. Unfortunately.

He’s glad to be the one to do this for her. In her first trip to the States, to see its capital, it was something she’s talked about since he first saw those tickets.

It’s beautiful, but he’s seen it before. The late December air is static-cold, her hair frizzing up adorably as they navigate the icy streets on foot, hand in hand. He puts a glove on his left, just because he can, and Rey doesn’t say a word about it.

Tonight is New Year’s Eve, and the street corners are laden with balloons and special sales and dirty snow. They see the monuments and buildings, him watching her while she takes in the world. They talk about how big it is, can be. He thought the same thing in Iraq, before the fighting started. Then everything felt small and dark and full of hate.

And now, it feels big again. For everything he’s lost, in this one moment, he could be anything.

They go to a pub and grill to fill their empty bellies. The warmth and atmosphere of a world in celebration surrounds them, and yet they remain cocooned in their own kind. Of world.

But not celebration.

As night encroaches, so too does Clyde’s memory that this is their last night together. Her flight takes off in the morning, and all of the wonderful things they’ve done together, the gentle kisses and every shy touch, will go with her.

She notices his foul mood, but tries to smile anyway. “Should we go?” she asks softly.

He nods, holding her eyes like it’s the last thing he’ll ever see.

\--

They looked up a motel online. A cheap place to get two separate beds.

He reaches for her hand as soon as they’re out of the car, both her bag and his slung on his shoulder. But when they get to the counter asking for a room, the receptionist tells them they aren’t taking any last minute reservations.

Rey gawks. “But, we really need a place to stay…”

The woman gives them a helpless look. “You could try the Marriott.”

Clyde blinks, and squeezes Rey’s hand in silent ascent. She thanks the woman behind the counter before they leave, her nerves frazzled.

He loads their things while she watches worriedly. Catching her, he strokes her cheek, leaning close. “It’ll be fine.”

She nods, kissing the wrinkles in his palm as he shuts the door. They drive to the Marriott, and Clyde’s eyes widen at the size and sculpt.

It’s going to be an expensive place, but he can take care of that just fine. When they reach the counter the receptionist is crisp, smile stretched thin and resentful.

“Hi,” Rey greets. “Can we have one room with two queen size beds, please?”

The man quirks a brow under the pretense of amusement before settling back into complacency. “I’m sorry Ma’am,” he stammers, catching Clyde’s imposing aura. “We only have a few rooms left, only with one queen bed… Busy season, you know.”

Clyde frowns. “That’s fine, we can go someplace—”

“We’ll take it,”

He turns to look down at her, surprised, while she gives her contact information; tells him it’s only for tonight. Still a bit dazed, he pulls out his wallet, swiping his card before she can hunt hers out of her purse.

Now’s her turn to frown at him, but she says nothing until they’re in the elevator, the silence thick between them as they scale the floors. “I could have paid for it…”

“So could I,” Clyde offers, throat dry. He can’t look directly at her, knowing where they’re going. Together. Just the blurry shape of her in the chrome door is enough to put his mind in the wrong place.

They enter the room with small, shuffling steps. It’s a decent-sized room. A small restroom on the side, a cloth chair and desk, a television on the dresser. Everything is completely normal.

As Rey peels their things from his shoulders, setting them onto the chair by the radiator, his eyes glue to the bed.

She notices when she turns around, and skitters shyly to the bathroom with a pile of clothes. “I think I’m… going to take a shower,” she murmurs, closing the door behind her.

Clyde watches her go, wincing. When the water runs he knows he should change his clothes—and does. His old Bob Seger tee and lounge pants. Simple things he wouldn’t mind Rey seeing him in. Or out of.

He lays his arm on the desk before he sits on the edge of the bed, slouching over his knees. Tonight is their last night together. The thought of it chases its own tail around and around his head, creating a whirlwind of sounds and whispers he doesn’t want to hear.

He should tell her he loves her, tonight. He should say every one of those words they’ve so carefully avoided. He should beg her to stay.

But he knows he can’t ask that of her, not when he’s not sure what they are. It would be so simple to pull her close, to dip her low like men in nickelodeons, offer her everything that’s left of him. That would be the easy part.

The hardest part would be when she says ‘no.’

The bathroom door opens, steam pouring out to spill on the ceiling in cruel detailed puffs, but its not  _ their  _ intricate beauty that captures his attention.

It’s Rey.

Small towel—why must hotels make them so  _ small?— _ wrapped around her, her fists holding them tightly, she walks over to stand in front of him as he watches, dazed. His eyes take hold, following the droplets still trapped on her neck, her wet hair plastered against her nape, eyes red around the edges in the soft, yellow light.

And, without a word, she lets go.

Clyde gulps as it drops to the floor, gaze taking her in full before he remembers himself and looks away. “Rey…” he mutters shakily. “You…” he has to close his eyes, the sight of her skin in his peripheral too tempting. “...you don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” she replies after a moment. He can hear a shudder in her voice, the pain he shares. Suddenly, her hand, warm and soft, is on his cheek, turning him back to her. His eyes remain resolutely closed, hand balled into a tight fist over his knee. He feels her breath on his lips as she comes closer. “I want to.”

When her mouth finds his, he knows it’s over. The war inside of him, the war that never ended when he came home, rages still inside his body.

He doesn’t need open eyes to know how beautiful she is,. How much he wants her, loves her, and always will.

Rey’s tongue peeks out to caress his, a jolt of pleasure spiking down between his legs. He grunts with the shock of it, the terrible, unquenchable thirst it incites, and before he knows what he’s doing he’s reaching, rising to his feet to hook behind the small of her back and pin her down on the bed.

He opens his eyes now, when the kiss breaks, finding hers wide and full. He drinks from them in every way he can, right arm trembling with the strain of holding him up.

He takes what she offers, committing her body to memory, wishing he could touch her. Carefully, he lays beside her, braced on his left arm while his right hand strokes her collar with the back of his fingers.

She sucks in a breath, watching his face as he drifts lower, their eyes meeting between each of her trembling gasps. His hand smooths over the valley of her breasts, wandering along the soft skin and fine hairs as he goes to cup her fully.

Rey moans, the sound shooting from his heating ears down to his waking cock. He wets his lip and kisses her, letting her be the one to take his tongue. And when she moans again, the rumble in his chest only grows into a growl.

He readjusts, placing his leg between her knees. The heat of her womanhood burns through the cloth of his pants and she whines, shifting her hips against him, creating a maddening friction that leaves him breathless.

Her arm loops around his neck, fingers threading through his hair as she deepens the kiss, tasting him. She tastes like corn beef, like salt and vinegar chips. The lingering sweetness and feminine musk of  _ Rey. _

When they part to breathe, she tugs at his shirt, and he helps her lift it over his head. His hair flops over his cheek, trapped between them in another desperate kiss as he tosses it away, returning his hand to her breast and squeezing.

“Clyde—!” she gasps softly, breath hot on his cheek. Her panting in his ear only spurs him on, this undeniable urge to pin her down commanding he love her properly—fuck her senseless.

His hand drifts down to squeeze her hip, her disappointed mewl cut off when his mouth splits wide to take her breast between his teeth.

She cries out in shock, but it soon devolves to unsteady pants as his tongue laves and tastes, as he works his throat to suck her.

His eyes find hers, every part of him hard with devotion and desire. With a twist of his hips he lies between hers, letting her feel him through the thin fabric of his pants.

Rey throws her head back, tugging his hair as he slowly, sluggishly snaps his hips in rolling thrusts. He separates his lips to hover over her, watching her face contort as he continues to brush against her. “Good?” he asks shakily, heart hammering, blood pulsing hard and fast in his cock as it ruts, seeking her.

She nods, looking half-crazed, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders. “Yes, yes,  _ yes, yes,”  _ she moans, legs squeezing tight around his back to bring him even closer.

He grinds against her, the wet heat sopping through to his crotch, forcing a whimper from his throat as he kisses her again, sloppy and laving. “I want you so much, Rey…” he whispers, trailing hot, open kisses down her neck. “I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

“Yeah?” she smiles, eyes shutting dreamily. “Me, too.”

Clyde shudders, her words pumping through him like morphine, and he starts to thrust faster, hissing as her nails rake down his bare back. He’s so hard, and  _ fuck, fuck,  _ he can feel the outline of her pussy through his pants, hear the wet popping of her arousal and his.

She reaches down, her hands finding his hips, fingers burrowing under his waistband to brace the top of his ass. He stills to accommodate, shivering at how her touch overpowers his rationale.

All rationale says to stop this, to let her go.

The rest tells him to kiss her, to love her, to fuck her so she’ll stay.

When she shucks the fabric down, he listens to the rest of him, and all of her, letting her disrobe him. His red ears and cheeks match his abused lips and weeping cock as he’s bared fully to her, and they are left naked and damp and skin.

Her eyes bulge at the sight of him, his cock twitching with need, smearing against her hipbone to meet her curious hand as she fondles him.

His eyes screw shut, and he mutters. He can’t curse in front of a lady, but he wants to. The feelings she brings out, the hot desire boiling for months in his body, rises to the surface as she strokes him, her fingers spanning to wander over his ridges and explore him fully.

He needs to grab her to make her stop, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers shakily. “Did I do it wrong?”

“No,” he answers, a little too quickly. “No, I…” his blush deepens. “”I don’t want it to… end.”

He can almost feel the flattery emanating from her as she nods, shifting to kiss his mouth. “Neither do I,” she sighs, brushing up against him. Her arousal spreads along his cock, and he nearly doubles over. He could crush her right now, dive inside until he’s so deep she’d never leave him, but grabs on to that invisible sliver of control long enough to slide down, peppering kisses onto her stomach, dipping his tongue into her sensitive navel and over her downy mound.

She gasps when he reaches down to explore her folds, pushing up along her slit until she whines, “There, there,  _ please.” _

He enjoys hearing her manners. Such a ladylike thing to plead for, and he doesn’t hesitate, bringing his mouth to her.

She gushes a small wave of wetness, slick on his lips and tongue as he traces circles over her swollen bud. Her hair scratches in a losing battle against his own as he sucks and smack, molding her with lips and tongue until she shudders, arching her back and spilling onto his chin and the sheets.

Mortified, Rey covers her face, turning away from her mess as Clyde returns to level her, wiping his mouth with the back of his left arm. Rey watches him and quivers, sending jolts of lingering passion through their pressing flesh. Carefully, he pries her hand from her face, planting a kiss on her wrist, watching gratified as she gulps.

He nuzzles into her neck, content to savor the scent of her, when her hand snakes between them, guiding his tip to her core.

He slides inside like they were meant to fit. Across the world, a lifetime, somehow managing to bridge it all.

And he takes her, knowing that as they move, as they feel, that bridge is crumbling down.

\--

The airport is cramped, writhing with people, teeming with bodies and faces he doesn’t know.

But he knows hers.

And he will never touch it again.

She lets go of his hand to throw her arms over him, and he wants to tell her he loves her, that he wants her to stay, but it won’t come out. Won’t break free. He holds her tightly, and doesn’t let go until the final boarding message plays over the intercom.

“I’ll call you when I get there,” she murmurs, not looking into his eyes, killing him.

He nods. “Be safe,” he sighs, leaning down to bury his nose in her hair, to nuzzle and smell. Last night plays over and over in his mind, every stroke, every inhale full of that beautiful, beautiful scent.  _ I love you, Rey. I love you. I love you. _

She holds his eyes until she has to turn, taking her bag with her, and he stands and watches until she disappears into the gate, his soul and heart left barren and dry.

\--

Clyde Logan is not a lucky man.

He is an empty one.

\--

He slams his hands down on the steering wheel, tears leaking down his cheeks as he spews curses, denting the dash with his metal fist as it pounds and shakes.

She’s gone.

She’s gone.

She’s  _ gone. _

His shoulders won’t stop shaking. He covers his face with his hand, baring his teeth as his lips peel in a low, guttural cry. The love of his life was in his arms, and he let her go.

He let her go.

He…

_ Clyde, sometimes a girl will run away hopin’ the man she cares about will come after her. _

He…

_ If you like her, then you should tell her. _

He doesn’t “like” Rey. He loves her. He adores her. He wants to be with her. And he will be damned to let some fucking  _ curse  _ get in the way of that.

So he shoves out of the truck, pacing fast towards the airport in long, purposeful strides. He books the next flight to London, which by some miracle is only three hours from now. He waits through the nightmare of TSA, practically rips off his arm to let them check it over, and over, and over. He sits in the chair, he goes through the gate, he finds is seat, and hurdles towards her.

He has her address in his messages. He memorizes it. He can find her. He’ll break down every door in the city if there’s a chance she’ll be behind one of them.

If she wants him to come after her, and even if she doesn’t, that’s what he’ll do.

\--

He rushes out of the gate and into the building, scouring in the unlikely even she’s still around. The sky is grey and cloudy, snow falling here like it did when they kissed, and it only makes him walk faster.

There are cabs in London. He’ll hail one of those. He has the money. He could take care of her anywhere. She won’t have to come back with him.

But he has to find her first.

He checks his phone; she hasn’t called him. Worry streaks down his spine like a brand, hot and searing. He can’t afford to wait any longer. He goes outside, the night coming fast on the horizon, and traverses the sidewalk.

And then he stops.

Right there, hunched over on a bench, a carved clover in her hands, is Rey.

She brushes her tears away, clutching her fists over his carving, pulling it to her lips as droplets fall from her flushed cheeks. Her red, kissable nose.

_ “Rey!” _

She sits up, staring bewilderedly as he races forward. She rises on shaky knees as he barrels into her, wrapping his arms around her middle, crushing her to him as the force spins them around. “Clyde… I’m so sorry… I’m—”

“No,” he interjects, cupping her cheeks with both hands, the skin of his thumb brushing her cold tears away. “No, no, no, no,” he drifts, interrupting himself by kissing her. “No. I’m sorry. I should have told you a long time ago.”

She blinks at him, squinting, as if he were sunlight. “What?”

He scoffs. He may be a Logan, but even he isn’t that simple. He looks deep into her eyes, holding fast, never letting go. “I love you, Rey. I love you,” he shakes his head. “And I don’t care where I am, where we are in a world so big. But I don’t want it between us again.”

Tears fall down her face, a wet sob spilling from her lips that he kisses again. After a moment she reciprocates, hesitant, beautiful, and perfect when she smiles at him, snowflakes in her hair as their red, cold, kissable noses touch.

“...Never.”


End file.
